The Dark Side of the Moon
by Nachtfuchs
Summary: Freed Justine's life changed the night he entered the Nameless City in his dream to meet up with a familiar stranger. His unremembered past comes flooding back and now Freed is left with the task to find out what's real and what's imagined, before the Dark catches up with him to devour him whole.
1. Prologue

**The Dark Side of the Moon**

**_Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Hiro Mashima. I don't own them, I am merely fooling around with them - no pun intended._**

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><p><strong>Prologue, or what happened before the beginning<strong>

Looking back, Freed Justine would say it began, as many things in a magical world begin, with a dream.

Though, this might not be quite true. Maybe it began when his mother died and left him in bony yet caring hands. Or you could say it had already started before his birth, when his mother bestowed him with a misguided gift. And some of it certainly had its origin in the bargain that his father struck with a man named Hades.

Freed's father was an ambitious man, who sought what many seek – power. He had always been living in the overbearing shadow of his own father, who was one of the most powerful mages in Fiore. So he searched for a way to overcome the old man. He would have done everything. Even if it should mean resorting to foul's play or dark magic.

One day he came across Hades, also known as Purehito the former Guild Master of Fairy Tail, who made him an offer he could hardly turn down.

Freed's father had arranged to meet Hades in "The Brick", a shabby tavern on the outskirts of Fiore's capital Crocus. Infamous for Urmond, the ever so grumpy innkeeper, the lukewarm beer and good old-fashioned tavern brawls. No, Freed's father didn't choose the Brick, because it was a place where he liked to spend his evenings. Far from it. It was just the most unlikely place to run into a Rune Knight or a member of Council or any mage for that matter. Neither Urmond nor the regular costumers cared for whatever illegal business you were up to. So long as you didn't interrupt their drunken stupor of self-pity.

There was only one unwritten rule in "The Brick": No woman allowed, which applied to the wives waiting at home, quite often armed with a fire poker or a rolling-pin. Every other kind of woman never wandered into the Brick anyway. Until this evening.

No one stirred from their drinks as Hades entered through the swinging doors. He was a tall, elderly man with white hair and beard. He wore a dark cape with high collar and his right eye was covered with an eye-patch. Despite his age he seemed muscular and well-kept. Only small wrinkles on his face showed his advanced age.

'_What a quaint little establishment, yes-no?_, 'said a voice from behind Hades and it was then that the costumers, as one man, stared at the door.

They did so for three reasons. One was that it was undoubtedly the voice of a woman. Secondly, it didn't sound like a livid wife. It clearly didn't. If any of the gathered men had a wife with a voice like this, then they wouldn't spend their nights in the Brick, because thirdly it was beautiful. It was deep, rich and full of promises and ambiguities. It made old men want to be whippersnapper again. A voice that could turn 'Good evening' into an invitation to bed.

The woman sauntered slowly through the doors. Long, swamp green hair, with wooden beads and leather ribbons woven into it, flowed around her. Her smoky, heavy-lidded eyes surveyed the room and her full lips curved into a smile.

'_Good evening, gentlemen_,' she said.

All the men could do was gape open-mouthed at her. Freed's father was no exception. Right now he felt in desperate need for a cold shower and a lie-down. It got only worse as the woman made her way past the tables over to the far corner where he stood or rather had jumped to his feet. Her thin, netlike robe clung to her tanned olive skin and did little to cover her well curved body. The brass bracelets on her wrists and ankles jangled with every step she took. Hades followed her like a shadow.

This woman was way out of his league. Freed's father wasn't unsightly himself, but he wasn't handsome either. At best he could be described as striking. He stood out, not only because he was a tall, dark-haired man with tanned skin and an aquiline nose. There was also the undeniable aura of a leader to him. It was in his demeanor. In the way he raised his eyebrow or called someone dearie, whenever he spoke to people who he fought inferior to him (ie. everybody). Also he had charisma bordering on madness, which was normally enough to entrance his dialog partner.

Freed's father had known from the start that it was out of question to call Hades dearie. They were equals in his opinion. And one thing was sure; a woman like her wouldn't tolerate any minimization of her person, because she was beautiful like a sleek feline predator. You had to admire her with due respect, otherwise she would tear your throat out.

'_You are our illusionist, yes-no? My name is Nawal. I am very pleased to finally make your acquaintance_,' said the woman as she stood in front of him.

She held out her hand and Freed's father knew at once that he wasn't meant to shake it. Like in trance he bent down and brushed the back of her hand with his lips. She smelled of cinnamon, cardamom and other oriental spices he could not name. Never had he smelt anything as intoxicating as her. Nawal took the seat directly next to Freed's father, who wasn't sure whether this was to his advantage or not, while Hades sat facing them on the other side of the table.

Urmond not only came from behind the counter to take their order, which he never did for no one, he also went out of his way to find a bottle of wine for them, after Nawal had asked him kindly. The batting of eye-lashes and pursing of lips had helped of course. A minute later he returned with three polished glasses and a bottle of the famous Comet Wine from Mrs. Urmond's private cellar. Needless to say that Urmond received a good telling-off and some slaps with the rolling pin for giving it away and, on top, free of charge.

After the barman had left, Hades talked about his travels around the world in search for ancient and rare magic. The name of the Black Wizard Zeref was mentioned more than once. Apparently Hades planed to create the Ultimate World of Magic, a world where only mages would be able to survive, to obtain the Magic of One. Freed's father thought it impossible to achieve, because it was only a fairy tale to him. He wondered why Hades was telling him all this anyway. And what was Nawal doing here? If she was here to distract him, then she was doing a very good job. But he didn't voice his irritation. Instead, as Hades asked him whether he would be willing to aid them in their cause, he said with as much conviction as he could master:

'_I would give my firstborn, if it would be of help to you.'_

He didn't mean it. It was only a saying. But the right price, he knew, would make him reconsider it.

Hades and Nawal shared a quick glance that made Freed's father feel very uneasy. They looked like they were enjoying an inside joke on his expense.

'_Good to hear, though I have no interest in your firstborn, the payment I had in mind for giving you delicate information about Fairy Tail is similar. Well, how should I say _,' mused Hades and stroked his beard thoughtful. After some meaningful seconds he concluded: '_Ah, yes! I require a vessel. You and Nawal are going to forge it.'_

'_Vessel? Forge?_,' asked Freed's father bewildered.

He tried to ignore the way Nawal rubbed her leg against his beneath the table and the way her bosom heaved with every breath she took. It was unnerving. Not in a bad way, mind you. Any other time he would have been overjoyed to get this kind of attention from a woman like Nawal. But not right now. Her mere presence made it impossible to focus on his conversation with Hades.

'_You know how to forge a vessel, yes-no?_,' purred Nawal in her voice as sweet as honey.

She had reached for his hand and smiled anything but innocently. This was the moment Freed's father understood what he was asked to do. Through the whole conversation he had felt like someone standing in the dark groping around for the light-switch, but there was none. So he had to stumble along, not knowing where he was going, until he saw the light at the end of the tunnel and now realization hit him like a freight train. Now he knew why Hades had brought Nawal along and what his words meant. Still, "Forge a vessel "was certainly a queer way to put it.

Freed's father swallowed hard before he was able to say: '_My dear lady,_ _I mean no offence, you are a lovely woman and all. Er. It's just a little unorthodox form of payment, don't you think?'_

Nawal laughed and what a delightful laugh it was. It made the men on the tables around them choke on their beer.

'_We didn't know you would have any ethical issues. Not after what you did to your own son_,' said Hades. He was the only one in the whole tavern seemingly unaffected by Nawal's overwhelming charm.

'_My son! How did you … No, I don't have any suchlike concerns. But why me?'_

'_You are a powerful mage. So am I_,' replied Nawal, never letting go of his hand. '_Our offspring shall serve Master Hades cause well_. _One night, that's all we need.'_

She gazed at him with her blue eyes. They were deep and wild like the stormy sea. He was hopelessly drowning in them now. How could he have thought about turning her down? His mind went abroad at this moment and decided to let the libido handle things from now on.

'_In exchange you will of course receive the information you yearn for. Do we have a deal?,' _came Hades voice through his clouded mind and Freed's father found himself nodding and shaking Hades hand to seal the bargain.

The next morning he awoke in a room above the bar entangled in faded blue bed-sheets. Nawal was gone, although her sweet scent (cinnamon, cardamom and other things he could not name) still lingered in the air and evoked the happenings of last night anew. He knew he would never be able to forget her as he slowly got up to collect his clothes from the floor. On the bedside table Freed's father found a sealed envelope with the mark of Hades. He turned it back and forth before opening it. A malicious grin spread over his face, as he read the note inside, and he whispered in anticipation:

"_Lumen Histoire…__"_

Yes, this fateful night set many things in motion. Still it's hard to put the finger on the exact point in time to indicate that here, right here, is where everything started. There is perhaps no real start at all, because there is always a before. An endless chain of events, the former triggering the next. Mostly you just get to see a snippet of the whole picture and everything else is part of another story and shall be told another time.

Freed never knew of the bargain, because it's clearly not the kind of story to tell a child saying: '_And that, laddie, is how yer parents met_.' He had also forgotten about the gift. For him it began that night with a dream. He would go as far as to say, that it was the beginning of the end.

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><p><strong>Sooo, hope you enjoyed it so far and that you care to share your opinion with me. Criticism is welcome, praise even more. ;)<strong>

**Well, see you with the next chapter!**


	2. Part One, Chapter One

**AN:** First, I want to apologies for the long wait. It shall not happen again. I had to make some changes to the storyline, due to the newest manga chapters .

Second, a huge thanks to my reviewers and to the ones following my first story: **NonsensicalCheshire****, UnisonFreed, Dragon of White Lightning, Midori Matchmaker, ****assassin-nya109**** and to the Guest, whoever you are.**

You guys made me very happy! (^_^)

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><p><strong>Part One: The Sleepwalker<strong>

"He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream

and he sometimes wondered whose it was

and whether they were enjoying it."

Doulas Adams

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

One way that you know something is a dream is that you are somewhere and you can't recall how you have gotten there. Freed remembered reading a book in the living room of Bixlow's and his shared apartment. It was 'The Complete History of Fiore, Volume IX' - a, he had to admit, rather dull yet educating one thousand pages tome with long and complicated sentences in a small writing.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next moment he was walking through a black desert under the cold light of a waning moon, heading for the ghostly shape of a city afar. The whole landscape was painted in black and white. The stars above appeared lifeless. They had lost their twinkle and were only white dots on the firmament.

Someone was calling Freed, urging him to quicken his pace. It was not a voice carried to him by the wind, for the desert was ghastly quiet. No, it wasn't a voice at all, because it had gotten into his head without bothering to pass through his ears. The call didn't even consist of words. Freed just knew he had to reach the city. Why and wherefore? An answer floated vaguely through his mind, but it escaped his grasp as soon as he tried to get hold of it. Regardless, it seemed to be a matter of live and death, and so he ran over the dunes as fast as he could. The sand slowed him down, making his feet sink in, but he kept going forward.

As he drew closer to the hazy outlines of buildings he realized that they were the ruins of a nameless city protruding out of the sand like a corpse from an ill-made grave. Their white stones were smoothed over the years by wind and sand.

Then, finally, he crossed the border of the city and suddenly the soft sand turned hard underfoot. Freed stumbled a few steps, before he caught his balance again and came to a halt. With his foot he cleared the sand away and found that there was dark stone underneath. The whole city must have been built on a slab of rock.

But that was not all. There were runes carved into the stone, which shimmered greenish-purple where the moonlight touched them. They appeared surreal – the only speck of color in a monochrome world. Freed bent down to have a closer look. The runes were crooked and crude and the letters rearranged their positions all the time, as if enlivened. They crawled and wiggled over the stone like insects. Freed had never seen anything like this. They were ancient, of that much he was sure, but he wasn't able to decode them. It was however vaguely perceptible that they formed a many layered circle that enclosed the whole city.

Freed reached out, entranced by their curious shape and glow, to trail their outlines with his fingers. As he came closer the letters clotted together in a big jumble beneath his outstretched hand, like a mound of ants. Suddenly he became aware of a low humming sound, not so much heard as felt. Like a charge building up and waiting to be released. Small green and purple sparks leapt up from the runes as his hand was only an inch from them. He hesitated for a second and shivered involuntary. It was impossible, and yet, it felt quite similar to his magic. Maybe he shouldn't touch them, but then again, this was only a dream. What harm could it do?

As Freed's fingertips brushed the stone a powerful magical surge went through his body, making him scramble away from the runes. He gasped for breath, but the air around him had grown thick and suffocating. His heart was pounding and shuddering in his chest.

No, it had not only felt similar, but exactly like his magic. Only multiply amplified and a great deal darker and more sinister.

Freed had always despised that he drew his magical power from the dark. It was like looking into a bottomless abyss and having the abyss stare back at you, tempting you to take one more step, to break the final taboo, and subject you to a fade worse than death. He had thought of darkness as the opposite of light – its absence. Something you could see and even touch or wield if you knew how. However this magical surge from the runes had given darkness a whole new dimension. It had slithered and crawled towards him in the shapes of unimaginable nightmares that Freed found only too easy to imagine. Then the shadows had engulfed him like thick treacle and Freed had realized that the Dark needed a capital first letter, because it was complete and utterly alive.

Freed forced himself to breathe slowly, to calm down. For a moment he was unable to think straight before it came back to his mind: He had come to this place for a reason (Whatever reason that was).So he stood up slowly, his legs still trembling, and walked into the nameless city. His gaze was fixed on the path ahead. He didn't dare to glance back at the runes.

The call became louder again, guiding his steps down the streets that nobody had walked in centuries. The houses on each side were half-buried and their roofs sunken in. After awhile he turned left onto a broad street, lined with blackened dead trees. He followed it until he reached a wide square. Once it must have been the market, but now makeshift grave markers speared from the sand. Hundreds, no thousands of them cast long shadows onto the ground. A magnificent temple towered in the middle of this field of the dead. The roof had caved in and so its high pillars supported nothing but the starry canopy. This was where he needed to go. Inside the temple someone or something was waiting impatiently for him.

Freed walked gingerly around the graves towards the temple. He didn't like to think about over what or who he was walking. Part of him knew he shouldn't go any further. In fact he should have turned around and left after touching the runes or even better before. Still, he felt it wasn't really his choice. Someone else steered him like a puppet and all Freed could do was follow.

In front of the wide stairs, leading up to the temple entrance, he came upon the only tombstone. It wasn't big or had any particular shape. Just a piece of debris, perhaps from the temple itself, set on a burial mound. Fine letters in a foreign script and language were carved into it. To Freed's amazement he was able to read them, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

'_**Life is a flame that is always burning itself out, but it catches fire again every time a child is born.'**_

Who was buried here, Freed wondered. He thought that he ought to know, that he had in fact known it once. But like the call in his mind it remained a riddle to him. Freed could see the pieces falling into shape before his eyes and every time he had a closer look at them they dissolved. It was daunting for him to have only the impression of knowing.

Freed tore his gaze from the tombstone. He had to go. The call was stronger than ever and this time its message expressed itself in words.

'Come! Come to me …,' whispered a voice, that sounded like a crackling fire, inside his head.

Freed made his way up the stone steps to the temple, stopped on the threshold to take a deep breath and ventured into the inner sanctum, as prepared for what was awaiting him there as he could be. He walked over the debris of the fallen roof and climbed over toppled pillars. His footsteps echoed from the walls, decorated with religious paintings. In the images people worshiped a blood splattered skeleton deity wearing a headdress adorned with owl feathers and paper banners. Around his neck was a necklace made of eyeballs. The larger than life statue on the far side of the temple, behind the still standing altar, was the same deity sitting on a throne of bones, his hands raised in an aggressive gesture. A throne of human bones Freed realized with dread, for one of the paintings showed a festivity that undoubtedly involved a human sacrifice.

'COME! COME!,' repeated the voice, now roaring like a forest fire. Freed could practical feel the heat radiating from those words and thought that any moment now flames would erupt from the ground.

Suddenly the call stooped and Freed stood in the center of the temple waiting. An eerie silence, that yearned to be filled, had blanketed everything, as if the whole city was holding its breath in anticipation of what was going to happen. Even the moon seemed to stop in his tracks to look down on Freed and watch the scene unfold.

The moment passed and nothing happened. No flames, no bodiless voice nor did the statue rise from its throne and made to grab and devour him. Freed listened intently, but the only thing he could hear was his pounding heart.

'Hello,' he called eventually,' I am here!'

He waited for an answer. Still nothing stirred.

Freed called again, louder this time, : 'You summoned me and here I am! Show yourself!'

The words echoed from the walls and were followed by silence. Then there was a muffled cough. At least Freed thought it to be one, although it had an uncanny likeness to the sputtering of a dying flame. It came from behind the fallen pillar in front of him. He peered over it and beheld a dried out pool. The fountain sculpture of a snake with many heads was toppled over and lay broken among shriveled water lilies. Right in the middle, where it once had stood, was a glaring hole with stone steps leading down into the darkness.

From deep down there Freed could hear the cough again and an odd clicking, like footsteps steadily coming closer. Louder and louder, and then it stooped. There was a groan and inarticulate grumbling, before the clicking continued up the steps. Carefully Freed climbed over the pillar and approached the hole. Out of the darkness appeared a light, unnaturally cold and white, that swung from side to side in time with the clicking. Someone came up the stairs cursing every now and then. It turned out to be a scraggy man clad in a worn bowler hat and poncho with a pit lamp in one bony hand.

'Well, took ye long enough to get here', said the stranger in a husky voice as he climbed up the last step. 'Suspect ye got lost in yer own dream, didn't ye?'

He stood towering over Freed and his gimlet-like eyes flashed from beneath the brim of his hat. There was a morbid grin on his gaunt face. Freed couldn't make out anything else, because the stranger nearly shoved the pit lamp into Freed's face, seemingly to scrutinize him from head to toe.

Something didn't seem right about the stranger's appearance though. In a way he bore a vague resemblance to the gruesome skeletal god. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Freed could swear that … No, that couldn't be right.

'Cor blimley! I'll be jiggered,' said the stranger and whistled through his teeth. 'If I'd didn't know better, I'd say ye are her. Ye aren't a woman of course, but with that long hair … Ye know in a way I always loved her, insofar as ye could love someone as wicked and fickle as her. They called her the Wicked Witch of the East. A fitting name for a screwed dame like her. But heck, she had charm, I tell ye, and knew how to twist every men around her little finger. Poor buggers didn't know what hit them. Neither did I for that matter. I was besotted with her. Aye, I was.'

The stranger nodded wearily, seemingly lost in his own memories. Just as Freed was about to ask something he rambled on again.

'Ye know, she was a good girl. Deep down I mean. Really, she was a starry-eyed idealist. That was the only reason she fell for that Hades guy and his grand talk about the Ultimate World of Magic. An old geezer using a young girl to do his bidding, ugh, yuck! I warned her. Aye, I did. And did she listen? Well, not until it was too late. She was already dying when she admitted her foolishness. Oh, and then she went and screwed that promise out of me. Made me stay in this world to take care of her little brat. Ye know how much it hurts to be confined to this bag of bones as a spiritual being? Hurts like hell! And solitude! There was a lot of that over the last ten years or so, too. Surprisingly I didn't go mad, eh?'

'Pardon, sir,' said Freed finally. His eyes started to water from the bright light of the lamp that was still only inches from his nose.

'Don't ye pardon me, ye useless tool! Now stop standing there, like the excuse of a statue that ye are, and hop along! Been waiting for yer status report for round about ten years.'

'Um. Excuse me please?,' tried Freed again, in the vain hope to make some sense of this one-sided conversation.

'Ye are excused,' retorted the stranger. Then he turned and scuffled down the stairs again.

'Come along,' he called over his shoulder to Freed.

Freed watched him descend into the darkness. He made no move to follow.

'I TOLD YE TO COME ALONG. ASAP!,' roared the stranger and a blast of hot air shot up from the hole, nearly throwing Freed back.

The part of Freed used to obedience took over at once and, while another part of him screamed 'Don't!', made him whip down the steps. The stranger in the bowler hat was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. His gleaming red eyes were glaring at Freed.

No, it hadn't been a trick of the light realized Freed now. He had seen what he had seen. The stranger was not scraggy. No, he was bony, because his body was just that – bones. His face was not gaunt. It was a hollow skull with eyes like smoldering goals in empty eye sockets. He was the aged and ratty similitude of the skeletal god. There was nothing dreadful about him. He was a rather pitiful sight.

'You are a skeleton, 'said Freed. He knew it was not only an obvious, but also a rude and dumb thing to say. It just slipped out of his mouth.

The stranger was still grinning at him, but he could hardly help it since his features were perforce frozen in this state. He merely shrugged and replied:

'And ye are an automaton made of dirt. Can't help what we are, can we?'

'I mean, you are The Skeleton, ' rephrased Freed.

'Huh?' said the stranger and if he could have blinked, he would surely have done so. 'Ah, ye think I am Kisin; God of Death, Lord of the Underworld, Prince of Demons and so on and so forth. Good grief no! Do I look like a men devouring monster to ye?'

Freed shook his head. Now that he thought about it, he felt almost secure in the company of this guy -skeleton or whatever he really was. He felt like he had known him all his life. Then again, everything in this dream seemed like a déjà vu. There was no time to ponder about the strangeness of this thought, because the skeleton had already proceeded down the narrow, dark corridor. Freed had to run to catch up with him.

'Sir, may I ask you a question?,' said Freed as he had drawn level with him.

'Ye just did, laddie,' said the skeleton and started to cackle. 'Sorry, couldn't help myself. Be my guest!'

'Well, earlier you were calling me a tool, a statue-'

'A useless tool and an excuse of a statue, laddie,' corrected the skeleton, wagging one bony finger at Freed.

'A useless tool, an excuse of a statue and an automaton made of dirt. Is where any reason as to why?'

' 'Cause that's what ye are.'

'You are a mad figment of my imagination, aren't you? I surely never had such strange and vivid dream before.'

'Uh-uh, I ain`t a figment, but ye are right, I might be a little moonstruck. Oh well, who am I kidding? I am probably as mad as a hatter,' said the skeleton and pointed at his bowler hat. Then he dissolved into giggles again.

'Ye know, because of the hat,' he said, but since Freed didn't catch the pun, he waved his hand dismissively. 'Never mind, laddie.'

They walked in silence for a while. There was darkness in front and darkness behind them. It was above and beneath them. Suddenly the light of the lamp didn't seem bright at all. Actually Freed began to wonder whether there were still walls on each side or a floor below him, this impenetrable seemed the dark. No, the Dark corrected Freed himself, because the shadows started to form silhouettes of claws and tentacles that made to snatch the light. A shiver run down Freed's spine and he kept as close to the skeleton as he could.

'Are ye afraid?,' asked the skeleton. 'Ye be a fool not to fear the Dark here. It's an old darkness down here. Old and hungry. The whole city hums with it like a hornet's nest. Ye get stung if ye are not careful.'

'The runes,' thought Freed out loud, remembering the unpleasant shock he received earlier.

'Aye, the runes. Here we are!'

They had stopped in front of a stone door that had appeared in the now meek glimmer of the pit lamp. There was no doorknob, not that Freed had expected one, or any other visible mechanism to open it. The skeleton handed Freed the lamp and mentioned for him to stand back. Then he put his hands on the door and declared solemnly:

'Open Galangal!'

Stone ground over stone as the door swung reluctantly open at his command.

For a moment Freed was blinded by the sudden brightness. They were standing before the entrance to a vast, vaulted underground hall dominated by a huge Lacrima crystal standing on a pedestal, which emitted the same greenish-purple light as the runes. Raw magical energy sizzled in the air, making it waver like a mirage.

Under no circumstances would he set foot into this place, decided Freed. It was not merely the sinister energy flowing about and prickling on his skin that bore the chance of physical harm. Rather was it knowing - like he knew this city or how to read the inscription on the tombstone or how he thought he knew the name of the skeleton (it was on the tip of his tongue since he had met him) - he would find a truth buried deep in his subconscious a long time ago, that could shatter his whole world. It was only an inkling, but now every fiber in him screamed: 'Wake up! You have to wake up before it is too late!'

The problem was how to pull it off. So he stood on the threshold of the hall frantically pinching his own arm to no avail.

'What, by the name of Kisin, are ye doing?,' demanded the skeleton.

'I would very much prefer to wake up. Now!,' said Freed. Desperation was clearly audible in his voice.

The skeleton sighed, took a big swing with his hand and slapped Freed's face hard.

'Pull yerself together, will ye?,' said the skeleton and before Freed could protest he was dragged by the collar into the hall. Behind them the door shut with a resounding bang. There was no turning back now.

The skeleton stirred Freed over to the pedestal with the Lacrima crystal. For someone without any muscles or sinews he was incredibly strong. Even though Freed was still dazed by the blow he had received, he doubted he would have been able to pull out of this firm grasp if he wasn't. So he let himself be pulled along until they stood in front of the crystal. The skeleton let go of him and scuffled to a three-legged wooden stool next to pedestal. With a huff he sat down.

'I am back, little Flamelet!' announced the skeleton, laying one bony hand lovingly on the smooth surface of the crystal. At first Freed had thought it to be a shadow, but now he realized with horror, that someone was trapped inside the Lacrima. It was a boy no older than thirteen. His hair barely reached his shoulders and Freed was painfully aware who that boy was, although the facets of the crystal distorted his image.

'Ye know,' said the skeleton turning back to Freed, 'I can't leave him alone for too long. I couldn't forgive myself if he died and I wasn't … I know it seems cruel to imprison him, but it was the only choice I had. He had given up on life and if I hadn't preserved his body this way, then -'

'Is that me?,' interrupted Freed. 'Like me – having this dream – looking at me having a dream. '

He couldn't stop starring at the sleeping boy inside the Lacrima. Freed remembered looking like this about seven or ten years back. There was no doubt: The boy was him. Or was he the boy? It didn't matter, he decided.

'Course not!,' said the skeleton indignantly. 'Ye are just the Golem he fashioned in his similitude. He gave ye his right eye to make this spell work. Gosh, have ye forgotten everything. Ye really are a useless tool, aren't ye? Please, don't tell me ye have forgotten about yer task, too.'

'Wait! What? Excuse me, but I am absolutely certain that I am not a Golem. I mean – I would know, wouldn't I? And this is a dream! So this isn't really real, right? Right?,' babbled Freed. At the moment his brain was boggling to process this new information. He hadn't realized yet that the skeleton was advancing on him, his eyes flaring with fury.

'That's enough!' he bellowed and seized Freed again by his labels, lifting him from the floor. Freed fell silent at once.

'Now ye are gonna listen and ye are gonna listen good, got it?' Freed nodded hurriedly. 'I spent ten years - no make that two friggin' decades - imprisoned in these darned, rotting bones waiting for a good-for-nothing contraption, that ye are -that ye are indeed - and now ye dare to tell me ye have forgotten yer task ? No, ye don't! YE DON'T! So let's start again, and ye better give me the right answer: Have ye completed yer assignment?'

The skeletons eyes bore into Freed with the intensity of a thousand suns. Freed was positively frightened now, but still he said:

' I am awfully sorry ….'

The skeleton continued to stare at him for some seconds, before all anger lapsed from his eyes and left only empty sockets behind. The last flame of hope in him was gone and he just dropped Freed to the ground.

'I am really awfully sorry,' repeated Freed and he meant what he said. 'Listen, I would … if I just could … I mean …'

'Alright, alright,' muttered the skeleton, 'it's alright. No, it's really alright. Perfectly alright! I don't blame ye. Must have been some error in the incantation while we created ye or maybe a slack joint or something.'

Suddenly the skeleton snapped his fingers. A mad, desperate light shone again in his eye sockets as he said:

'What do ye do when an apparatus doesn't work like it should?'

Freed didn't know and the way the skeleton looked at him told him that he didn't want to find out.

'Well, we haven't tried turning ye off and on again yet,' mused the skeleton,' but I would need yer real body for that and even then it would be too hazardous. So instead, why don't we give ye a good whack!'

With that the skeleton tackled Freed and wrestled him to the ground. Freed tried to fight back, but the impact with the floor had knocked all the air out of his lunges. A strong hand took hold of his wrists, holding them effectively down as the skeleton seated himself casually on his back. His other hand grabbed Freed by the hair, yanking his head back.

'I like to assure ye beforehand, that I regret what comes next,' cackled the skeleton and with force it smashed Freed's head onto the stone.

'Did it work? Do ye remember anything?' asked the skeleton in a hopeful way. 'I can do it harder if ye like?'

'No … listen - '

But instead Freed's head collided with the ground again. It was a dream, but the pain felt absolutely real. So did the metallic, sweet taste of blood in Freed's mouth. How could that be? Like he was reading his mind, the skeleton said:

'Hurts like hell, doesn't it? Most curious, wouldn't ye say? Ye think this is just a dream. Ye are not wrong, but ye aren't right either. For pain is all in yer mind. Well, and guess whose mind we are in right now? '

He smashed Freed's head down again. There was a crunching sound as his nose broke. Blood streamed down his mouth and chin. He bit his lip to suppress a howl of pain.

'So long as ye are in here it will feel real. Do ye remember the task now? '

'No, I am sorry, ' said Freed and braced himself for the next impact as the skeleton pulled his head back again. He was sure the next one would split his skull. If not, the one after surely would. He looked at the Lacrima crystal. At the boy trapped inside, who was or was not him, and tried to remember. About a task, about this city and about a name. Like before nothing came to him. Apparently he locked those memories away for good and thrown away the key.

Suddenly Freed realized that something was happening around them. The skeleton didn't seem to notice. He was too busy with his whacking. But every time Freed was pulled back from the ground, another part of the surroundings had vanished. In their place only the Dark remained. And it was slowly creeping towards them. Panic seized Freed and he tried to wriggle out of the skeletons vise-like grip.

'Please, 'pleaded Freed.

'Ye remembered something?'

'No, but - '

Freed was smashed to the ground harder than ever. For a moment the new wave of pain prevented him from thinking properly. His head pounded madly now and his vision was blurred. Even so he saw that the Dark was advancing faster now. The walls, the vaulted ceiling and most of the floor had already fallen prey to it. Not even the light of the crystal could keep it at bay. Freed wondered what would happen if he died in this dream. Maybe he would wake up. Maybe he would sleep forever.

No, he couldn't die. Not yet. He had to life to tell Laxus that … This thought was the trigger that he needed and suddenly he knew.

'Basit, stop!' he called out to the skeleton.

The skeleton stopped dead in his act. Slowly he released Freed and stood up.

'How ye know my name? I never told ye.' He looked at the boy in the crystal. 'Only he knew.'

Freed pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He still felt dizzy and would have fallen down again if Basit had not come to his aid by offering a hand. They looked each other in the eye for a long moment.

Basit's flaming eyes stirred up some blurred images. Of a bony hand messing up his hair, two wooden swords clashing in practice and of a promise he made a long time ago.

'Little Flamelet, ' said Basit finally.

'I suppose I am,' said Freed.

'Ye suppose?'

'Sorry, my memories are a little hazy.' Freed glanced past Basit at the approaching Darkness. Only some feet separated them now. They stood on an island surrounded by a dark sea. Terror was taking hold of him again.

'Basit, look the Dark,' he whispered.

'Oh bugger,' said the skeleton, upon realizing what was happening. 'Seems like ye are about to wake up. Listen, ye have to come here to the Nameless City before the new moon. Ye have to dispel the rune barrier. Ye have to-'

'To fulfill my promise,' said Freed. 'I will.'

All of a sudden the Dark was upon them. Freed felt its touch on his skin, questing, moving over him and through him. Filling his mouth and lungs … He closed his eyes and opened them again. It made no difference. The Dark had swallowed them whole.

'Basit,' he whispered, afraid of what else might hear him.

The ghost of a bony hand sought out Freed's and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

'Remember what I told ye when ye were younger. Close yer eyes and count to ten, then everything will be alright …'

He did as he was told, closing his eyes tightly.

_**One**_**,** he thought. _**Two. Three**__._

Then Freed lost hold of Basit's hand and fell through darkness into darkness. Down, down and down. Would the fall ever come to an end?

Still he counted on. _**Four, five, six …**_

There were things in the Dark. There were sounds all around him. He imagined he could hear a nasty and hungry voice tempting him. He tried not to listen.

_**Seven. Eight**_**. **

_Give up_, the voice seemed to say. _Stop struggling. Become one with me, than you won't have to suffer anymore._

_**Nine.**_

_You are mine_, whispered the Dark directly into Freed's ear. _Don't forget._

All he could do was to scream: **'Ten!'**

And he woke up at once.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope, this chapter was worth the long wait. Tell me what you think. Again praise is most welcome, but criticism would be helpful, too.<strong>

**Until the next chapter!**


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